


fuck labels get love

by ruluan



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/F, M/M, also questionable things, arthur's so pretentious!!, like actually, like alcohol, so many gross stereotypes it's disgusting, verging on potentially offensive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruluan/pseuds/ruluan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'd like to see more school!fic or university!fic stories. Specifically Eames as the cocky jock and Arthur as the uber smart snob. THEY BOTH GET DRUNK AT A PARTY AND SHAG.</p>
<p>Awkward embarrassing hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fuck labels get love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Inception kink meme](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/9327.html?thread=16731503#t16731503) about 2 years ago, when I was a very inconsiderate person and wrote stereotypes instead of well-rounded people
> 
> Not beta'd because again, I have no friends.

Arthur honestly doesn’t know how he ends up where he was now, on a random bed in a random room in a random person’s house, mouthing Eames’ neck.

He thinks it probably has something to do with the questionable purple liquid that Ariadne shoved into his hands–-no, scratch that. It definitely started with her dragging him to this party in the first place. Honestly, he’s ranked first in his class, he doesn’t have the time or wish to be here. So then why would Ariadne force him to come?

Eames groans, and he can feel the vibrations of the noise against his lips. Oh, he thinks. _Oh._

Now he remembers. Eames, quarterback of the football team, school heartthrob. Typically, popular kids like Eames would never even look Arthur’s way; he is, after all, just a nerd who spent all his time studying instead of actually having a social life. Eames, though, Eames is different from them. He loves mocking him, contradicting him, and angering him, and Arthur may or may not love it, too, and Ariadne may or may not have noticed, and forced him to do something about it by coming to this party that Arthur wouldn’t even know about if Ariadne wasn’t a nosy gossip. And then, when Eames had given him that look, like he was so sure he was going to get Arthur into his pants that night-–

Well.

Eames’ fingers slip under Arthur’s untucked button-up, skimming over his stomach. Arthur pulls away, clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, all the while griping, “You’re really not as hot as you think you are, you know.”

He feels rather than hears the chuckle against his shoulder. He slips off his shirt, still talking, “It’s true. Your lips, your eyes, your–-“ His voice turns breathy as his fingers slide into Eames’ hair, “Your hair. Your lips are fat, your eyes are too blue, and your hair is-–"

Eames interrupts him. “You like it.” He says, confidently, cockily, then kisses Arthur. Arthur, however, pulls away–-with difficulty-–protesting adamantly, “No. You just look better when I’m drunk.”

\----------

“So? How was it?” Arthur bangs his head against his locker.

“Uhh.” He’s too tired to deal with this, and completely and utterly blames Ariadne for convincing him to go to a stupid party instead of doing his actual homework. He closes his locker and walks with Ariadne down the hall.

“Come on, Arthur, formulate real sentences! You can do it! Unless sex with Eames was so hot it rendered you speechless for 2 whole days.” He thinks the smirk on Ariadne’s face is very unbecoming.

“Sex? Don’t be ridiculous, Ariadne. That’s for people who actually leave their houses.”

She scoffs. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I saw you two going at it.” Arthur gives her a horrified look. “What? It was too good to not just take a little peek!”

“You fucking voyeur. Don’t talk to me.” He ditches her outside her first period, making a sharp left turn, only to ram straight into a warm, solid body.

“Arthur.” Eames gives him a much too suggestive smile. “How did your weekend go?”

Arthur grits his teeth, tries to will the blush staining his cheeks away. “Terribly, thanks.”

“What a coincidence, mine too. Do you want to know why?”

He tries to walk around Eames without answering, but Eames blocks him.

“You left me with blue balls Friday night, darling, and I _will_ find out why. Apparently, it’s not because you don’t like me…” He leans in close, fingers brushing against Arthur’s cheek. In reaction, Arthur mumbles a quick, “Ihaveabsolutelynoideawhatyou’retalkingabout,” and darts past him.

Eames watches Arthur retreat and thinks this is going to be interesting.

\----------

It’s a sunny day, so Arthur decides to sit outside for lunch. It is not at all to avoid a certain hot jock. Nope, not at all. It’s just a really nice day to be outside, studying multivariable calculus.

“Do you ever get that feeling that something’s wrong with your life?” Arthur sighs and doesn’t look up from his textbook when the heavy weight of a backpack almost hits his head in the process of being slammed onto the table.

“Because, you know, right now that something in my life is you.” Eames throws himself into the chair next to Arthur, slouching like a slouching thing. “Help me with the math homework?”

Arthur finally looks up from his math book to shoot a glare at Eames. “I don’t even know how you got into calculus.”

“Neither do I.” He grins before pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper from his backpack. “Here we are! Number 13.”

“The integral of cos3x. Okay, do you remember that formula, sin2x + cos2x = 1?”

Arthur can already tell that he’s not going to like what’s going to come next from the suddenly sly look that comes over Eames’ face. “You mean, if you were sin2x and I was cos2x, together we’d be one?”

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur barely refrains from slapping Eames upside the head. “You _would_ find a way to make _math_ dirty.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” Eames smirks at him. Arthur just rolls his eyes and continues explaining.

“Yeah, whatever. So you take that, solve for cos2x. You get cos2x = 1 – sin2x. Then you–-you’re not paying attention, are you.”

Eames appears to be staring intently at his collar bones, and doesn’t even appear to hear him. The look Arthur directs at him clearly doubts his sanity, and Arthur slams his book shut as he stands, packing his things into his backpack. “Finding a place where you definitely won’t find me next time…”

Snapping out of his collar bone staring session, Eames shouts at Arthur’s retreating back, “Would that be the library?”

\----------

In the French classroom, after school. Arthur, the president of French Honor Society, and Eames, for some unknown reason, are the only ones there to create posters for the club fair, to introduce little freshmen to their club. Arthur is a little stressed.

“How are we supposed to do these posters by ourselves in like, 2 hours? I have my violin lesson today, too…” He can barely hold back from tugging at his perfectly gelled hair.

“Relax. We’ll just paint one with a French flag and the words ‘FRENCH HONOR SOCIETY’ and like, ‘THE LANGUAGE OF ROMANCE’ or some really cheesy stuff like that. Girls fall for it all the time.”

“You would know, you womanizer. But you have to actually be taking French to be in our club, or at least be fluent in the language.”

“Je sais,” Eames says, “Or else I wouldn’t be in this club. So we’ll just write another poster with, ‘SIGN UP FOR FRENCH CLASS’ on it. Let’s get to work instead of just stressing.”

“It seems all I do is stress,” Arthur grumbles as he pulls out two posters and red, white, blue, and black paint. He pours the colors onto a plate as Eames pulls out some brushes, then dips them in. However, instead of actually bringing the brush to the paper like a normal person, he immediately assaults Arthur with blue paint.

Arthur gapes at the blue stain on his previously very much white oxford shirt, then narrows his eyes. “Oh, it is _on_.”

\----------

Arthur and Eames are head-to-toe rainbow by the time they walk to the front of the school. Ariadne, who has just finished helping Art National Honor Society, takes one look at them and smirks.

“Looks like you two had a little bit too much fun.”

Arthur scoffed. “We’d have finished _at least_ an hour earlier if it weren’t for this idiot over here. He found it necessary to ruin my brand new _white_ oxford shirt, and spelled français wrong.”

“That’s because he always looks too clean, it’s disturbing.” Eames’ cruel words are negated by the goofy grin on his face.

“You could always get him dirty,” Ariadne says with an entirely innocent voice, but her voice is much too suggestive for Arthur to fall for it, if he didn’t already know her well enough to tell. He frowns, unamused, especially when Eames fixed him with a lascivious stare, commenting, “I already have.”

Before Ariadne can get past a laugh, Arthur interrupts, “You guys are absolutely ridiculous. Which one of you can drive me home? My mom’s got work until 6.”

“I will.” Ariadne wags her car keys in front of his face. “I was waiting for you, anyway. Otherwise I would have already left.”

“How kind of you,” Arthur says sardonically.

\----------

When Ariadne pulls up to Arthur’s house, he attempts to escape as fast as he can. Unfortunately, he’s not fast enough. The doors click locked as Ariadne admonishes, “Where exactly do you think you’re going?”

“… Home?” Arthur replies hesitantly.

“Nuh-uh. Not until you tell me the full story of what happened Friday night at Fischer’s party.”

His shoulders slump in defeat. “I just know you’re going to keep pestering me until I tell you, so.”

He pauses. Ariadne, sensing this wasn’t going to be all fun and games, waits patiently.

“Okay. You know about the part where you practically shoveled that purple shit into my mouth. Said some complete and utter crap like, ‘drunkness improves judgement!’ and I didn’t question you because I was nervous beyond belief and couldn’t even believe you’d managed to talk me into it. And then the next thing I know he’s there, grinning at me like I’m the best thing since sliced bread. Or at least, really sexy-looking sliced bread. Maybe in the shape of boobs? Or--"

“Wow, Arthur,” Ariadne stops him. “That’s like, the most immature thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. I honestly don’t care. Continue with the story.”

“Pushy. So he’s pulling my hand, he’s tugging me onto the bed, he’s running his fingers through my hair-–and then I realize. I don’t want this.” Arthur looks down at his hands, as if the lines of his palm would tell him all the answers.

“What.” Ariadne says, disbelieving. “I know for a _fact_ that you are so hot for Eames – “

“ _No_. Well, no. That’s not what I meant. I meant that I wanted something real. Something that wouldn’t be written off as just a one night stand, a random hookup, a mistake.” Arthur looks everywhere but at Ariadne, knowing full well that her face was overflowing with sympathy.

“So… You just left then and there?” She asks him softly.

“Uh. Not exactly. I kind of teased him until he was begging for it, _then_ ditched him. Makes me more memorable, you know?” Arthur finally looks at her sheepishly.

Ariadne couldn’t pick her jaw up from the floor. “You fucking tease! I didn’t even think you were capable of that, especially with all that shit I poured down your throat. Kudos, Arthur, Kudos. I have never been so proud of you.”

He smiles quickly, then makes for the door.

“But,” She grabs his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure the fact that you’re a virgin also played into this, am I right??”

He flushes, finally snapping, “ _Yes_ , okay, that was the other half of why I left him there. Happy now, harpy?”

“Very.” Ariadne finally unlocks the car doors, then waves cheerily as Arthur practically runs out. “See you tomorrow!” She calls.

\----------

The next day at school, Arthur is ambushed at his locker.

“I’m sure you’ll be ecstatic to know that I’ve created a plan. Do you want to know what it’s called?” Ariadne beams, bouncing with excitement.

“Not particularly.” However, even Arthur’s pessimism isn’t enough to dampen her enthusiasm.

“It’s called the Arthur- _Will_ -Lose-His-Virginity-to-Eames,-Goddammit! Plan. Shortened to AWLHVEGP. Or just plain AWL.” Ariadne looks at him expectantly.

“That has to be the most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard. Also, it’s _totally not happening_.” He slams his locker shut and glares down at his ‘friend’.

“Whaaaaat?” Ariadne whines, tugging his arm insistently. “But you two are so perfect. I mean, a prudish nerd-snob with a hottie jock? You’ll be like the poster child for breaking social norms, or something!”

“Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. We all know Eames is going to end up with that head cheerleader, what’s her name? The French one.” They begin walking toward Ariadne’s first period.

A funny look passed over her face, before she insisted, “No, Arthur, don’t you worry! Eames will be yours in no time! All with the help of your favorite person in the entire world, aka me!”

Arthur’s face clearly expresses his exasperation–-with a tiny little bit of fondness that he will completely deny if asked-–as Ariadne skips into her first period classroom.

“Do you walk her to her first period everyday? How sweet and gentlemanly of you.” Arthur starts, turns to see Eames grinning at him. Speak of the devil. He reddens.

“Now, if only you’d be so gentlemanly towards me. Walk me to my first period? Just for today?” Eames continues speaking, giving him a terrible and not at all convincing pleading face. Arthur doesn’t grace him with a response, instead just huffing and walking in the general direction of the English hallway. Eames follows.

They walked in silence for a distance, before Eames breaks it with an uncharacteristically hesitant statement. “Arthur, I have a rather important question to ask you. Do you… find me annoying?”

Arthur would have snorted if he hadn’t sounded so serious. Alternatively, he pauses, thinking about it, before saying, “You’re _really_ annoying. But,” He adds quickly, before Eames can look dejected for more than a second, “That doesn’t mean that, you know. It doesn’t mean that I don’t. Like you. You know. No, I mean, that I–-You. Your annoyance is tolerable.”

They stop in front of room 106, English, Eames’ first class of the day. Arthur tries his best to look at the door, the wall of last year’s graduates and what colleges they went to, the lockers all along the wall. Anything but Eames’ face. He coughs. “Uh. I have to go. I’ve got AP French. On the other side of the school. Yeah.”

He makes to turn, but something catches his arm. He turns back to stare at Eames’ fingers encircling his wrist, uncertainty and confusion on his face. Eames just smiles, says a quiet, “thank you”, brushes his lips against Arthur’s cheek, and is gone before Arthur can even blink. Arthur brings his fingers to his face, wondering how someone who seems like just another antagonizing jerk jock could pull something as unexpected and sweet as that.

\----------

It’s 4:30 PM on a Tuesday afternoon and Arthur’s looking for Ariadne, his designated ride home. He feels bad for making her wait so long, but she’d insisted she’d wait for him to finish up with his wcience tutoring. Unfortunately, this kind offer of hers doesn’t count for anything when he _can’t find her_.

He pulled out his cell phone and called her. His ears pick up on two–-no, scratch that, three–-noises. The first is obviously the ringing of his phone calling Ariadne’s, the second is the vibration of Ariadne’s phone. Still holding his own phone to his ear, Arthur searches for the source of the buzzing, and in the process hears the third sound. Is that–-a gasp? He quickly turns the corner to find the source of the latter two sounds.

Arthur can’t honestly say he expected this. This is his reason for standing, gaping like a fish, phone hanging limply in his hand–-still ringing, watching some girl crowd Ariadne against the wall. Ariadne looks far from reluctant, smirking her infamous smirk and wrapping her arms around the other girl’s neck. Their lips inch closer, closer--

“Mal!” Both girls’ heads snap up, look at Arthur, then at Eames, sweaty and out of breath, who had called the other girl’s name, who is _right behind_ Arthur. Oh. Head cheerleader. Mal stalks toward Eames in a dignified manner, sending him a scathing look and blowing a kiss to Ariadne. Arthur doesn’t even want to comprehend what he’s witnessing, not the guilty look on Ariadne’s face, not the amused look on Mal’s. He looks at Eames, and that single glance conveys a mutual vow to silence.

As Eames and Mal walk toward the football field together, Arthur grabs Ariadne’s arm, whispering visciously, “You could have been seen by someone! You of all people should know how the rumor mill works.”

She tugs her arm away angrily, not bothering to lower her voice at all when she snaps, “Let them see! I like–-no, I _love_ her, okay? I don’t care what anyone has to say about it.”

“Love-- _how long has this been going on?_ ” It’s almost too much for Arthur to deal with. “Listen, Ariadne. I know you’re really big on expressing yourself and whatnot, but, please, dear God _please_ be more careful. You know how vicious teenagers can be, and they won’t care jack shit about how you feel. All they’ll care about is the fact that Mal is a girl and that you’re doing–-whatever it is you were doing there with her, and they will be cruel, and they will be merciless, and I don’t want this to happen to you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Arthur,” Ariadne spits, “But I don’t need you taking care of me.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you!”

“Well, _stop_. You can’t even deal with your own problems, let alone worry about looking out for me. I can take care of myself.” Ariadne stomps away from him. Arthur sighs and wonders how he’s going to concentrate on the American History textbook after all of this has happened.

\----------

9 hours later, it’s 1:30 AM and Arthur can’t focus. He finds it really hard to care about the Republicans versus the Federalists when he’s just found out so much about his supposed best friend. So instead, he calls up Eames.

“Did you know before today?” He doesn’t bother with an introductory statement, jumping straight into what’s on his mind.

“No, but I had my suspicions.” Eames sighs, says, “Arthur. I know you’re worried about Ariadne, but she’s a big girl now. She can deal with her own problems, and I strongly believe that both she and Mal are beyond capable of taking care of themselves. They’re the two most terrifying girls I know.”

Arthur chuckles at this, and, though he can’t squash the worry, he knows that what Eames just said is one hundred percent correct. He tells him, “You’re right, of course. It’s a wonder how such words could come out of the mouth of a jock.”

“Hey!” Eames protests. “Don’t be so quick to label. There are plenty of non-jock-ish things about me.”

He refrains from asking, “Like what?”, and instead, Arthur just laughs a little, comments again on Eames’ wisdom, then hangs up. He chucks his phone onto his bed and spends the next couple of hours, days, weeks wondering what exactly he meant by this.

\----------

Wednesday morning, Arthur doesn’t know whether to expect Ariadne to stop by his locker or not. He fidgets, opens his locker, closes it, opens it again, and by the fifth time he’s closed it, he’s greeted by Ariadne’s unamused face.

“So? Now that you’ve gotten approximately 15 hours to think about yesterday, what have you got to say?” Arthur can tell she’s aiming for nonchalance, but can see her hands trembling. He decides not to comment on it, and instead just shrugs.

“I guess I got a little overprotective. I mean, I know you can handle yourself, you’ve proven that more than enough times. I just–-I can’t stand the idea that other people might hurt you.” His train of thought is cut off by Ariadne embracing him tightly.

“Oh, Arthur! You’re just like a real big brother! Which is weird because I totally had a crush on you when I was a freshman, but then I actually met you, and I’m rambling now, aren’t I.” She pulls away to grin at him brightly. Arthur finds it hard not to grin right back. However, he had a pressing question to ask.

“Are you going to announce your relationship, or just wait until someone finds out and talks?” Ariadne’s grin dims, and she says, “I’m not quite sure yet. Mal wants to announce it, though.”

Eames comes out of absolutely nowhere–-though honestly, Arthur shouldn’t be surprised anymore–-and says, “It’s probably best to let everyone know on your own terms, instead of being caught. But whatever you think is best, dear.”

He smiles at Ariadne, then attempts to reach over and ruffle Arthur’s hair.

“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Arthur swats Eames’ hand away, mouth turning downwards in annoyance. When he attempts to smooth his hair back to repair the damage done, Eames and Ariadne snigger.

“So,” Eames drawls, “Friday. Another party at Fischer’s. You two going to be there, or be square?”

Arthur snorts. “No one says that anymore, Eames.”

Ariadne hits Arthur, exclaims, “Of _course_. Hopefully you two will finally, actually consummate your relationship!” She shoots Arthur a glare.

“I sure hope so,” Eames leers at Arthur, who flushes and mumbles, “I’m pretty sure the first bell rang like, 5 minutes ago,” and shuffles off to class.

Ariadne and Eames share a half-exasperated, half-fond look, and walk toward their own first periods.

\----------

“So.” Ariadne approaches Eames by the staircase of the 500s hallway during lunch. Eames is very confused.

“I thought you had second lunch. Skipping class?”

“Asked to go to the bathroom. I’ll just say I got my period and had to go to the office to ask for a pad. The real question is, what are you going to do about Arthur?” She sits down next to him.

“I don’t exactly know. I thought I knew he liked me, but I can’t know for sure.” He frowns, puts his sandwich down.

“No! He definitely likes you, okay? Don’t you dare doubt it for a second! I’ve seen how he acts around you, all flushed and embarrassed and it’s just so adorable. The thing is–-you know, he told me everything about what happened at the last party.”

Eames immediately stares her down, eyes demanding for answers.

“Whoa, back up, big boy. He told me a lot of things that I think he should tell you himself, but the main thing is that he doesn’t think you’re serious. So, just show him you are. _If_ ,” She lifts a finger, shoving it at Eames’ chest, “you really are. If you’re not, back the fuck off _now_.”

Instead of being intimidated, he just laughs. “What do you take me for? A complete and utter idiot with shit in my eye sockets?”

Ariadne looks grossed out for about 10 seconds, muttering something about teenage boys being disgusting freaks, before putting on a big smile. “I thought as much.”

\----------

“No,” Arthur says, without looking up from his American history notes. Eames pouts, wondering how exactly Arthur knew he was there, when Arthur seems to read his mind and continues, “You breathe way too loudly.”

“No to what? You couldn’t possibly know I had something to ask.”

“From our conversation that occurred earlier, I can assume it’s going to be about Fischer’s party on Friday, and you’re going to try to convince me to go, that it’ll be a really great idea and you’ll promise not to lay a single hand on me, and I will say no. Again. And again, no.”

Eames attempts not to show admiration and slight intimidation at Arthur’s supernatural powers, and instead implores, “But. Why not?”

Arthur finally looks up with an accusatory glare. “I’ve been slacking way too much, and it’s all your fault! I need to study for the SATs, because I refuse to get anything below a 2200. Obviously, I’m not going to achieve this if you and Ariadne keep dragging me off to ridiculous, time-consuming, brain-cell-killing parties.”

“Wow, don’t you sound like a right loser.” Eames laughs and Arthur twitches. “But that’s actually not what I wanted to talk about.”

Arthur is skeptical. “What, then?”

“Arthur.” Eames sits down next to him. “I really need to talk to you. About… Us. Whatever this is.”

“We’re talking right now.” Arthur avoids looking at Eames, tries to pretend like he doesn’t know what’s coming.

“I need…” Eames looks around. They’re sitting on the staircase in the 2000 hallway, voices echoing, people passing by as it nears the end of lunch. “I need to talk to you privately. Will you meet me after school, by the library?”

Arthur hesitates. He doesn’t want to talk with Eames about them, doesn’t want to even think about what he could possibly have to say. However, he also knows that Eames won’t let up until he said what he wanted to say. He nodded his head slowly. “…Sure.”

The bell signifying the end of first lunch rings, and Arthur knows he won’t be able to concentrate in his last few classes.

\----------

2:40 PM finds Arthur waiting by the library, as Eames requested. He shifts from foot to foot, wanting so badly to just bolt while he still can. Unfortunately, right at that moment, Eames finally arrives.

“Hey! Uh, let’s sit down over there.” He leads the way to the benches right in front of the library. When they sit, he says, “Okay. Uh. Wow. This is going to be awkward.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything.

“The thing is. The thing is that, you know, I kind of hate you. For leaving me at Fischer’s party. And at first I thought for sure that you despised me, and that was why you left, to get back at me or something. But then I saw you that Monday, and you were all flustered and embarrassed. I thought, no way would someone who hated me be like this after doing that. They’d be smug up to their ears, right? At least, I was pretty sure.” Eames glances really quickly at Arthur, then looks back at the tall tree in front of him.

“Then you basically flat out told me you didn’t hate me, so I didn’t have to assume anymore.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “And I guess it just never occurred to me that you were just as confused as I was, if not more so. Am I right?”

“Eames. I never thought for one second you were nervous about what you were doing to me.” The words just come out; Arthur can’t control his mouth. “I just assumed… I mean. You’re the fucking quarterback of our football team. You can’t possibly be capable of uncertainty. Nor did I think you were capable of indulging on something other than a hook-up. So, I kind of assumed you were just dragging me along, about to drop me at any second.” Arthur avoids looking at Eames, resists the urge to cover his face with embarrassment. God, how he hated these moments where he actually had to be honest with himself and his fucking insecurities, and-– 

Eames grabs Arthur’s chin, forcing him to look at him. “You honestly didn’t think I was serious?” Eames sounds incredulous. Arthur gives him a have-you-even-heard-a-single-word-you’ve-said-to-me look. “You make it really easy to think so.” He says simply.

“Wha – I can’t help it if I’m naturally flirtatious, okay.” This time, Arthur’s look clearly conveys how Eames’ comment further enforced his doubt.

“Uh. Okay. Just. I like you. I have ever since I met you and you told me that if I didn’t shut my mouth, you’d brain me with your calculator. I haven’t been able to look at anyone else since.”

Now, Arthur’s not a naïve idiot. He knows high school’s shit, he knows any romance that takes place in high school is not likely to last. Still, he can’t stop the fluttery feeling in his stomach, the feelings of hope and–-intense like. He thinks maybe he knows what Ariadne means when she says she doesn’t care what people say about her and Mal, because they’ll be together.

Because right now, he couldn’t really care what people say about him and Eames, nerd and jock, being kind of sort of in intense like with each other. Because who gives a shit about labels, anyway?


End file.
